


Parables & Primes

by Counterpunch



Category: Frozen (2013)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Counterpunch/pseuds/Counterpunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet Series: Moments string life together, and it's the ones both quiet and loud, unassuming and mundane, that shape Elsa into who she is</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this](http://counterpunches.tumblr.com/post/72840485141/parables-primes-danny-schmidt-when-once) song

The waiting took hours.

Anna took forever to come. Elsa, her mother liked to say, slipped out like ice.

Elsa was too young to remember most of it, details were clouded inside the fog of childhood. She'd fidgeted nervously in the hallway while her father paced restlessly back and forth, not understanding much of what was going on other than knowing something _different_ was happening. She'd never seen her father so anxious and distressed.

She doesn't remember plugging her fingers in her ears as deep as they could go or running to another corridor to hide from her mother's screams. 

But she does remember that first clear wail, a cry so new and piercing that Elsa felt something hot inside shift. It tore her towards the room and Elsa scrambled up to the bed where her mother lay weary and sweaty, an exhausted but knowing smile on her face. Though the Queen beckoned Elsa closer, she was hesitant to see the thing that had so undone her parents.

But at the first sight of her sister, the warm thing settled somewhere deep inside her. Elsa tore her eyes away and looked up at her parents in wonder.

It was Anna. 

A tiny hand gripped her finger and Elsa flared, knowing in that touch that she belonged to her: that they belonged to each other. That she wasn't alone in the world anymore. 

Forever was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything passes by in a blur of sounds and sights and colors and magic.

Of adventures and games, mischief and silliness.

Of being together so freely and joyfully.

Of laughter.

Elsa trots behind the guards, imitating their rigid marching with her tongue sticking out and eyes crossed while Anna laughs in fits from the stairs.

Anna sticks grapes in her nose and shoots them out one nostril at a time and it makes Elsa laugh so hard she falls off her chair. Their parents’ glares snap them back into place, but they couldn’t stop giggling for the rest of the meal.

Once they raced around in the stables with horseshoes tied to their hands and feet, clopping around like ponies. They would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn’t been for Anna accidentally knocking a rake over, opening a latch which let one of the horses run loose. It took the stablemaster a day to track it down, and they were forced to sit in separate corners facing the wall for an entire afternoon as punishment, but it was completely worth it. They might have been removed from each other, but they were never apart.

They know every inch of the castle from years of hide-and-seek but from the first thaw of winter, the outside is theirs to own. Elsa yearns for summer; for the way sun dances on her skin, warming her outsides the way Anna warms her from within. Not one minute of sunshine is wasted indoors, the months of cooped-up long winters finally over and their freedom restored.

Their favorite spot to picnic is under a weeping willow tree in the courtyard. They practically live there during the summers, weeks passing in the pages of the books Elsa reads out loud to Anna. They get lost in romance, swashbuckling adventures of pirates and princesses, thieves and orphans. Anna hangs onto every word, gasping in surprise and twisting her hair around her fingers during stressful parts. Elsa delights in Anna’s reactions, and she does her part to give each character a different voice and drawing out the drama or excitement. She loves reading, but she loves reading to Anna more.

They cloud-gaze for whole afternoons, squinting at the sky until the sun burns their eyes. With a wave of her hand, Elsa keeps their lemonade cold for hours.

They make up their own language during their lessons, blinking in code and speaking gibberish to everyone except themselves. Their teacher raps their knuckles with a cane, and though it makes their hands throb, their eyes still twinkle.

Late at night they make vows to each other, solemnly sworn in the veil of moonlight and promises, to always be good and kind and fair. To rule together no matter what. They’re princesses first, but sisters always and Elsa and Anna are a proper pair of bandits, sharing everything together and stealing the world for themselves, making it their own.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Even in sleep they are champions of each other. 

Elsa woke one night from nightmares of cold and steel. Of flesh freezing and hands crackling. She jerks awake, gasping with the storm from her dreams deafening in her ears. Disoriented in the dark, her heart races and she scrambles out of bed, running away from whatever terrible things haunted her in the dark. 

Anna's bed seems so much farther away in the milky blackness of night and though fear still licks at Elsa's heart, Anna is still closer. She hoists herself up, pulling a corner of the covers down and settles into bed. Anna's asleep, one arm tucked under her head and a small stain of drool puddles near her mouth. Elsa curls up into her sister, shutting her eyes tight against the phantoms in her head and settles into the deep and even rhythm of Anna's breathing. 

The warmth of Anna against her back drives away the cold inside and Elsa's body melts, letting go of the fear as her calves and hands slowly unclench. The rest of her soon follows, relaxed and warm and safe, held in the comforting _thump thump_ of Anna's heart.

Anna doesn't always wake Elsa just to play. She gets nightmares too, and Elsa always wakes before Anna even makes it to her bed. Fear makes Anna hesitant while excitement makes her bold and Elsa knows which is which by the way the hair on the back of her neck stands in attention. There are some things sisters just know.

Anna tugs the blankets when she's frightened, waiting for Elsa to scoop her up. Sometimes she trembles, but Elsa sings lullabies under her breath and strokes her hair until the little ball that is Anna settles down and is soon asleep once more. Its moments like these, when one of her arms is wrapped protectively against Anna, that Elsa was made for. Not for wielding magical powers, but protecting the people she loves. She'd build a dozen walls, hundreds of feet high to shield Anna from danger. Nobody would get to Anna, Elsa wouldn't let it happen. 

Not anyone.


	4. Chapter 4

The falling took hours. Even if it happened in just a few heartbeats.

Anna might have been the one who fell cold and still to the floor but the world froze around Elsa that night, too. There are no altered memories for her, every awful moment is seared onto her brain and the trolls' chilling vision dances in streaks of bloody red across her mind.

They came up with a story, of course, but long after Elsa had "recovered" from her "illness", they never moved her back into Anna's room. Between facing Anna's innocent hurt and the lonely voiceless walls of her room, Elsa knew there were some things she would never recover from. Not really.

Their separation was almost absolute and it tore Elsa asunder. Half the world was missing, half of herself. The only thing worse than being alone was when she forgot. She'd swivel around, mouth open, eyes lit up, ready to tell Anna something only to remember halfway. She missed her best friend.

The only time they saw each other was at dinner. Ever the formal event, the entire family was expected to be present (unless there were pressing matters of state for her father to attend to, but the instances were rare) and despite recent circumstances, Elsa was no exception.

Anna's stares burned and Elsa could feel her questions and hurt press against her face and she blistered beneath them.

Sometimes silence reigned, stretching in-between Anna's stories, and it was deafening. Swallows seemed loud, water tinkled in the glass, and silverware clanged against the plates. Elsa dully pushed her food around, taking minuscule bites of things she didn't taste.

But most of the time, Anna would ramble about her day with their parents smiling and asking polite questions about their studies. Elsa would speak as few words as possible, certain that if she didn't, everything would tumble out and she'd never stop. A quick glance at her sister would flood her with shame, and it was enough to keep her promise. It never stopped Anna, though.

Dinner had started out innocuously enough one midwinter evening, until-

"Last night I had a dream about trolls!"

It was all she could do to not drop her fork with a clatter on the plate, but Elsa's hand was shaking and suddenly there was no air and her head was spinning and why was the table so far away?

"Did you now?" her father said lightly, glancing at her mother, but Elsa could hear the unease behind it. Danger suddenly hovered in the thin air above the table and it was all her fault.

Heart still pounding, Elsa grasped onto the voice and used it to pull herself back. Anna continued on in a different direction, growing bored of trolls at the lack of interest her parents seemed to show. But Elsa knew and her heart still pounded.

Later, in the middle of her barrage of questions came, "Elsa, is it really cold where you're sitting because wow, look at your glass!" Elsa turns in horror to see the rim frosted over. Fear flames, licking at her heart, and Elsa cannot push herself away from the table fast enough.

"Excuse me," she manages to stutter in some semblance of a calm voice, "I'm really not feeling well, may I please be excused?"

Though the worry on her parents' faces is palpable, they nod their assent and her mother reaches out with one arm to brush comfortingly against Elsa as she leaves. She tries not to flinch. Anna's disappointed, her father's lips are tight, her mother is heartbroken and Elsa is crushed under the weight of them all.

"Thank you," she whispers, hugging herself. Hands locked onto her elbows seems like the safest position because no one can touch her and she can't freeze anything that way, at least not herself, but parts of her are always cold these days anyway.

She doesn't come to dinner anymore after that.

Reminders of what'd she'd done were everywhere; they were a part of her. She couldn't stand the sight of her bare hands anymore.

They'd sent Gerda and the other nursemaids away in favor of her mother bathing her. After the servants had set up the bath, they'd be quietly dismissed and her mother would hum under her breath while scrubbing Elsa's hair or tell stories from around the castle. But any time she mentioned Anna, Elsa's heart would seize with guilt and frozen lillypads would crest atop the water. Bubbles would ice over and Elsa would be left shivering in the water, apologizing even as the Queen hushed her gently, draped warm towels around her shoulders and squeezed reassuringly, as if Elsa were a normal thing.

They brought back Gerda after that.

Instead, Elsa and her mother met over needlepoint and court lessons.

She'd still hum and talk, but from the safety of the gloves, Elsa could at least bear to hear the stories; they pricked, but she felt it dully, numbed beneath her gloves.

Sometimes she missed feeling things, but the lines blur between 'too much' and 'not enough' and since Elsa's never been good with moderation, 'don't feel' is something she decides is better to live with. Her hands itch when the gloves aren't on and deep down they sometimes feel like the only things that can save her.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Her room was a safe place; safe but dangerous. Terrible things happened here, draperies were ruined, furniture warped and twisted, glass shattered. Time stops in her room full of damaged goods, but each destroyed piece marks a moment in time.

It was the one place Elsa allowed herself to feel, so it was fitting her room was as monstrous as she was.

Laughter trickles down the hallways or up from the gardens outside her window. Steps of the servants in the corridors. Clatter of the kitchens echoing from the stairs. Though she stayed away for their safety, her body still craves human contact and her fingertips would crackle like lightning, reaching out for an anchor, begging for touch. She couldn't stop the magic, but she could redirect it.

She'd rather destroy a million wardrobes, wreck a hundred beds, break a thousand windows than a single person. This was her burden to bear alone, and for good reason. They weren’t safe.

Whenever the craftsmen and carpenters attempted to fix whatever destruction she'd done or replaced what they couldn’t, Elsa retreats to the library. There's a kingdom outside her bedroom that she can't touch, filled with people she'll never meet, but Elsa is still expected to run it.  The distance from the people she's meant to care for never gets easier to understand, but economics and history come easily; living with ghosts of the pasts is second nature to her.

Elsa tries desperately to ignore the memories, the fact that it was once the two of them - always the two of them together - who played and ran and giggled and fought. That they're both friends with shadows, now. As she sat studying, sounds of Anna befriending the people in the castle paintings echoed through the halls, swashbuckling and giggling leaking through her isolation. Anna talks to the paintings the way they used to talk to each other and Joan never answers, but neither does Elsa and between them, the silence is devastating.

One day, Anna told Joan all about her sister. Elsa created snow piles and burrowed herself in them, stuffing snow in her ears and rubbing handfuls into her face to cool her down but the tears came down hot and heavy anyway. She emerged hours later, shivering and shaking, face red and raw, but it was nothing compared to the lonely and defeated footsteps that padded outside her door.

They had to replace the floorboards that time.

She gets better at steeling herself against the knocks. Each one she had to ignore was a hammer to the chest but after a few years, eventually faded to a dull, echoing thud.

Other times it isn't as simple as sadness.

One year, there was an especially bad winter. Storms ravaged the countryside, blocking the fjords and roads. Though it didn't affect Elsa (she was already locked inside, what difference did the weather make) Anna was struggling with being cooped up, the castle even more restrictive than normal.

The stables were shut, and after traipsing around the castle for hours, eventually Anna slumped defeatedly against her door. "Elsaaaaa," she whined after a minute, "Where _are_ you, I'm so _bored_."

Anna said it so innocently, but her words hit a raw nerve Elsa fought so hard to keep buried. Anger exploded then: new and blistered and terrifying. Anger that Anna's life continued outside while hers was shackled to the insides of things. Anger that what Anna cared about was _Anna_ , that she didn't understand, didn't want to see that Elsa was just as lonely and bored and _hurting_ \- if only she could put her own selfishness aside and look closer.

Elsa’s resentment exploded, shattering nearby bookshelf. Her chest heaved and blood pounded, but at the sight of the splintered pieces on the floor, anger dissipated and in its stead returned the familiar cold, lonely ache: that Anna couldn't see. Elsa would never let her. She stared miserably at the mess on the floor, hating herself even more, certain that she belonged where she was more than ever. After all, this was just furniture. Imagine what she'd do to-

She shook her head against the thought, drawing her arms close and folding her hands in. Father could call for a craftsman later.

How it was possible to feel so weighed down and scattered at the same time? Elsa wasn't ice; she was a snowflake, adrift on the wind with no ability to change direction. She had powers of winter, but Mother Nature was cruel and despite everything, Elsa still could not change what she is.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

This isn't Elsa's first council meeting. It is, however, the first one she attends without her father. She's heir apparent and as upcoming regent, these meetings come as a familiar practice, but with new and weighted meaning without her father’s calm and guiding presence.

She'd started attending at sixteen, with enough background studies in trade and diplomacy to start learning about the current affairs of state firsthand. She sat slightly behind and to the right of her father, close enough to see the documents shown before him and maintain a significant presence without getting in the way.

Her eyes are hungry and notice every detail: every page, announcement, and record, because this, finally, was her way into the world. These are going to be her people, and at last she can take care of them and nurture from afar. To be present and involved without having to touch anyone. Maybe she could still do some good after all.

Elsa knows body language. She's double-checked hers every conscious moment since she hid herself away, and understands its’ meaning, so she notices the subtleties of men: how they sit, who they look at and when, what they say and when they say it. Always the observer, Elsa carefully notes every piece of information people unwittingly give her, and stores it for future use.

After the advisors leave the hall, her father would turn to her and they'd go over the meeting in minute detail, from each agenda item to court politics. He'd smile whenever she'd ask good questions or make sharp observations. "That's excellent, Elsa," he'd say and she couldn’t help a tiny smile of her own from shining through.Despite all her other failures, at least here, in matters of state, she excelled. She was grateful to be able to show her Father a measure of aptitude.

His ghost casts a heavy presence in the room now, and the air crackles around Elsa’s hands as she stares at the empty chair at the head of the table. Each footstep is weighty, echoing unnaturally loud in the hall, as she approaches his seat. This is her kingdom now. The burden of it is almost paralyzing against the weight of everything else she already carries, but Elsa makes room for it the way she always does against things that are too much, and it settles heavily between her shoulder blades.

She spent a half hour before the meeting releasing everything she could in the privacy of her room. There were no screams for Elsa - there never are - but she tried to get everything out of her system - every snowflake, every blast of cold air, every shard of ice. The storm howls silently, raging until there is nothing left and she is empty again by the time she walks down the stairs. Her breath is measured, posture ramrod, arms crossed at her waist, face blank and even, head angled to echo her father's presence - Elsa is the picture of composed and regal, but its a facade, thin and fragile as a pane of glass. With one touch, she would shatter.

All the council members are standing at attention. Their pressure and expectations press on her, and instantly her heartbeat doubles. Sweat prickles at the collar of her dress which is suddenly too tight, and air cannot come fast enough. She closes her eyes, thinking of her father and imagines the loving patience of his heavy gaze beckoning her to the seat that is now hers. She exhales.

She can do this. She has no choice. She'll make him proud.

Don't let it show.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The touching took hours. Days.  
  
So long disconnected from the world, Elsa’s senses were muted, numbed beneath the gloves.  
  
Not all of them, of course; her hearing and vision were sharp after years of constant vigilance against the smallest snowflake or the sickening, tightening crack of something as it freezes.  
  
It was automatic, grasping her hands, keeping them folded and crossed at her waist. Elsa had forgotten what movement was, to be fluid and free; to have her arms in any other position but cradled close and tight. Her new wardrobe helps - the sight of her own skin reminds her that things are different now, that she can be loose and unconfined. But sometimes she still falls back on old habits: walking too slowly, too solemnly, too rigidly, clutching her hands to her chest. But now she simply catches herself, smiles and relaxes her shoulders, laughing as she twirls in freedom: it’s more than she thought she’d ever get to do again.

  
She doesn’t have to be on guard all the time anymore. Her hands could roam and explore. For years her fingers had only known the fabric cage of her gloves that she’d clung to desperately, as if she could contain herself within them. She’d forgotten what the world felt like, that there were other senses in the world, and they all demanded exploring.  
  
She marveled at the cool touch of metal spoon warming in her hand.  
  
She ran her hands along the banister on her way down the stairs, contrasting the smooth varnish to the rough and gritty grains of wood in the stables. She spent hours sitting by the fountains in the sunshine, running her hand through the water until her fingertips were pruny and soft. There was no ice, and Elsa let the warmth flow through her, closing her eyes to the sky.  
  
There was a world of fabrics she’d been ignorant of. Since she took the gloves off only to bathe, something as simple as running her hands down her bodice and over her skirts was suddenly new. There was more than just shape: there was texture. Thick velvets, sleek silk, hearty wool, punctuated with ribbons and embroidery, and buttons that had worlds of texture all their own. She skimmed her fingers over the knots and stitching of the draperies in the hallways as she walked through the halls.  
  
The world outside the castle is a big place but Elsa starts small, remembering life under her fingertips one inch at a time.  
  
For years her world had been finite and narrow. She may be a queen, but Elsa burned every last pair of her gloves because now there is nothing more to conceal and _everything_ to feel. That was always her problem, feeling everything too much, the pressure of having to hide so much love and life trapped inside, until they’re exploding out of her.  
  
No more gloves, no more hiding.  
  
  
She is Elsa.  
  
  
She is love, and she is alive.

 


	8. Chapter 8

There’s so much she’s missed out on.

Her childhood was stripped away from her, disappearing with Anna’s memories but the mischievous streak of hers never left and occasionally makes itself known. Even as queen, she’ll shock the horses of rude and stuck-up dignitaries with a blast of cold air, and look the picture of innocence as their carriages jerk away. Servants and aides alike try to hide their smiles, pleased the castle and their queen is so full of life once more.

Her fingers itch to build more than snowmen and she indulges them in gardening; she’d missed out on years of growing and nurturing, when her and Anna had needed it most, but she can make up for it in small measure with flowers, plants, and trees.

They don’t really know each other anymore, not really, but it doesn’t stop them from trying. They might be older and different now, but they’re still the same where it matters the most. 

Elsa flinches the first time Anna tries to tickle her. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, muscles still tense, “I just- it’s been a long time and I’m not used to it. Yet,” she adds hastily as Anna touches her arm warmly. “Just … give me some time.” 

Anna smiles back, “I know,” she says. “We’ll work on it together.”

Elsa, in turn, tries not to worry too much after she presented Anna with a pastry,  fresh from the kitchens and learned Anna had grown allergic to strawberries. (“It’s alright! It’s not like I’d die or anything. My face just swells up and I might not be able to breathe so well, but it only lasts for like, an hour.”)

They’re learning, and though it’s sometimes tentative and awkward, there is no more fear between them anymore; they’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. Anna barrels forward with her usual enthusiasm, smothering Elsa with affection and love, and she lets herself be overwhelmed. 

Elsa still has nightmares, though, and some terror is still so violent as to shake her from sleep. Its a long walk to Anna’s room in the dark corridors of the castle, but now there’s nothing to stop her from knocking, and a sleepy “Come in,” always answers. Elsa knocks for propriety but also for herself, because knocking will never stop being a luxury and she wants to do it as often as she can. Each kiss of the wood against her knuckles feels like a miracle and reassures Elsa that everything is still real.

Anna has nightmares too, with new monsters with green eyes and gold buttons who smile through lies and frozen girls who never thaw. She doesn’t have to ask to be let in, because Elsa never shuts her door anymore, and instead Anna merely knocks gently against the doorframe, letting her know she’s here. As Elsa wordlessly pulls the covers down, Anna settles in the way she used to, Elsa throws her arm around her like she used to, and in sleep they’re just two little girls again, together and safe.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Sometimes, when the world is too much to bear and the burden of having to be queen all the time rattles the safety and beauty of her new world, Elsa retreats to quiet places. There’s a garden behind the private wing where she and Anna used to play as children, and it’s one of the few places around the castle with happy memories that Elsa can sink into and be at peace.

Her eyebrows rose when she saw Kristoff there the first time. He's been there on multiple occasions, one foot dangling in the pond or leaning back against the stone hedges, looking at the sky. Her stomach tightened and she gnawed her lip at first, unsure of what to say around this man who occupies so much of her sister’s heart. Though at first Anna is the only thing they share, his smile is unassuming and warm under honest eyes, and unlike some people in Elsa’s life, he knows the redemptive value of silence. They don’t say much out here; they don’t have to.

Kristoff picks at long grass that grows in the courtyard, twisting it into rope, and they sit quietly a few feet from each other, allowing the breezes to talk for them. After the first few times, he wordlessly offers Elsa some straw and shows her how to weave it into patterns and dolls.

Today she was leaving a council meeting when muttered phrases about marrying for trade guarantees caused panic to shoot up her spine. In an instant she’s back in that ballroom, exposed, raw, and she needs to run. Her pulse hammers in her ears, her breath is shallow, and she loses her footing in the world as the ground moves without her consent.

She stumbles into the courtyard, grabbing for a tree, anything to ground her while she wills her heart to slow down. But her body isn't listening to her and Elsa’s stomach lurches at how far away the ground is, and she leans heavily against the tree because she knows how much it hurts when people fall. There's a ringing in her ears and a hum in her brain, and it isn't until her palm slips against the bark that she realizes she's _sweating_.

There’s a rustling from behind and a sudden burst of ice escapes from her fingertips, and Kristoff hops back, crunching on the newly frozen grass.

“Hey,” he says, holding his hands up defensively, “It’s just me.” She shakes her head, trying to apologize, but the air is still too thin to fill her aching lungs, and she’s gasping like a fish.

Kristoff’s brow folds and he dashes behind the foliage, returning seconds later with his hat, wet and dripping. He wrings it out, shaking off excess water, and he glances at Elsa’s hand before meeting her gaze, wordlessly asking for her permission. She nods, and he gently opens her palm and places the hat in it. The quiet way he moves, so contradictory to his bulky frame, captures her attention and pulls her away from focusing on the ache in her chest. The hat is heavy with water and after he nods at it again, she releases a burst of magic, chilling it. Guiding her hand, he places it against the back of her neck and she exhales a ragged breath at the cool kiss of water against her hot skin.

He takes a small step backwards but his hand hovers nearby just in case, visibly relaxing as Elsa’s breathing slowly returns to normal. She brings the cloth to her forehead, pressing it coolly against her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says, once she can breathe again and her hands aren’t shaking so violently. Her voice is raspy around the lack of air, throat aching as she inhales.

“No problem,” he says.

Elsa closes her eyes, lulled by the steadiness of her heartbeat, floating away with the birds' chirping until Kristoff speaks again.

“I fell in once,” he admits, “Through the ice.”

His eyes avoid hers, looking everywhere but towards her questioning gaze, “I was still just a kid and I-” he scratches his head, cutting himself off, “Well, anyway. I fell in and it wasn’t easy getting back out, so. I get it. I got them, too.”

Elsa’s familiar with cold fear and blind panic, and she imagines a scared little boy gasping and thrashing, desperate for air and for warmth. It may have been under different circumstances, but Elsa knows what it’s like to drown, trapped under ice.

She reaches for him. “Thank you,” she says, grasping his hand between hers and holding his gaze, talking about much more than his hat. She smiles as he blushes, understanding a little more why Anna loves him so much, because she's grown to do the same.

_Thank you for Anna.  Thank you for being there. Thank you for me._

She’s become who she always was, who she was meant to be, before the fear and self-sacrifice got in the way. But the past cannot be so easily undone and though her world is brighter, more open, and more free, her mind and body still react automatically to certain things; like how she still reaches for her gloves in the morning, or the way her pulse still accelerates if someone touches her unexpectedly. Elsa’s scars are hidden, silent until they scream and swiftly make her undone.

The panic attacks occur less and less often than they used to, thankfully, but a lifetime of hardship can’t be changed so easily. Anna didn’t know what Elsa had gone through for all those years, but now she sees the ruins of what’s left behind, and they frighten her. Anna’s panic rises to match Elsa’s own and though Elsa doesn’t doubt Anna’s support and desire to help, often it has the opposite effect.

Elsa’s been able to shield Anna from most of it, excusing herself as soon as her heartbeat doubles and her scalp prickles. “I’m fine, Anna,” she'd manage to say, “I just need a minute, ok?”

She's not lying or trying to hide from her, but the instinct to protect Anna will never fade. There’s no more hiding between them now though, and Elsa’s gaze pleads silently, begging. A wordless promise passes between them at those moments:  Anna will give her the space to let her go, and Elsa will return.

There are people on either side of her now, supporting her in all the difference ways she needs.

Elsa’s life is built from unspoken things - her father’s wordless guidance, her mother’s worried gazes, every time she never answered the door growing up, Anna’s hand in her own now - and Kristoff has just shared another moment with her and created another unspoken promise: he is there for her, too, and she for him.

They’re all there for each other, stumbling and learning and loving.


	10. Chapter 10

  
  


All her years of getting ready for the crown did nothing to prepare her for the exhaustion of being queen: not just running the world, but being a part of it. Two years of ruling have gone by and she's barely realized it.

Dignitaries, ambassadors, growing trade relations, town events, mountains of correspondence -they’re all enough to distract her for months. The castle has a full staff again, and though there are series of councilors to help run the country,  Elsa refracts depending on the light; flickering between diplomat and advisor, judge and hostess, monarch and parent. Sometimes she is unsure, other times forceful, mostly even but always fair, and always Queen. 

Elsa knows how to be queen, even if it’s more exhausting than she expected; what she doesn’t know is how to be Elsa, which should be easier but somehow isn’t. Nothing about her apparently ever is.

The feelings percolate slowly, settling in bits and pieces, during late nights over paperwork when her eyes burn weary or mornings when the light filters in dusky and pale. It doesn’t make any sense, why when she’s watching the people in the courtyards during the maypole celebration or seeing Anna and Kristoff laughing at dinner out of the corner of her eye, a tiny knot of melancholy grows inside and distracts her from her happiness. Before, she resigned herself to a life behind closed doors. But now that she’s through them, often it feels impossible to reconcile who she was and who she is; she juggles the two as best she can, but sometimes there’s an emptiness in the disparity.

Maybe it’s a longing for adventure; for what Anna had experienced over those few days that summer. Anna had rattled off stories at breakneck pace about wolves, fording streams, climbing mountains, jumping off cliffs, and sliding down buildings, barely stopping for breath, punctuated only by Elsa’s own reactions and to pop grapes into her mouth. 

But then Elsa recalls her version of things - of fear and death and magic - and knows it was more than enough excitement for one lifetime. She's met trolls, buried her parents, and lost her sister time and again, almost for good; she could use a little less excitement. As it is, she searches for the few precious minutes between appointments, following the promises of a quiet cup of tea or relaxing with Anna in front of a warm fire. After she’s finally closed the ledgers for the evening, Elsa will close her eyes while Anna absentmindedly plays with her hair, relaxing as the stress from the day flows out of her like a trickling rain. She’s more approachable now, but she still shies away from people being involved in anything as intimate as undressing, electing instead to manage the heavy gowns alone, or, on the nights when her spine curves under the weight of exhaustion, with Anna’s help.

Sometimes it's almost overwhelming how close they all came - how close  _she_ came to destroying everyone and losing everything. But more often than not, there’s a hand to gently squeeze her own, chasing away ghosts of the past and the panic that wells at the thought of it because Anna is there and her hand is so so so warm.

There's no reason to fear anymore, because the gates are open and Elsa is free and Anna is smiling. 

She might be lonely at times, but she’s not alone.

For now, she tries not to worry about what being "just Elsa" means. She's got all the time in the world to figure that out and she doesn't have to do it alone, either. Because there's Anna to show her, Kristoff to tell her, and Olaf to remind her. They're a small and…odd bunch, certainly, but it's the most substantial thing Elsa's ever known and she holds onto them with everything she has.   

They’re all anchored to each other, and she is no longer adrift in the wind.

 


	11. Chapter 11

  
A year used to be a long time. A year used to be forever. Time stopped and started in the ballroom with Anna, and it’s been making up for lost time faster than ever.

For so long, Elsa was made to be ice and wind and jagged, cold things. But now she’s no longer drifting, lost and lonely on the wind. She’s anchored by the things that give her life meaning: her family, her kingdom, her people. Ice is clear and empty on its own but water takes the form of whatever holds it and Elsa is shaped by many things now; she floats.

For so long she had been what she thought others wanted her to be, blindly accepting their choices as her own. Not much has changed, but _everything_ is different. She still has routine, structure, and responsibilities, but she's learned to make them her own. To make room for _herself_ in all of them. For too long she'd sacrificed herself for the good of others to no avail. She knows better now; Anna had shown her that. She couldn’t be a sister the way her parents showed her to be. Or a queen the way people expected her to be. She can only do both the way she knows how. No good comes from hiding from the world; the best way to love it is to be a part of it.

She understands now that she isn’t just one thing, that she is so much more than one thing, that she is Elsa: sister, daughter, friend, queen. She isn’t shoved into her roles anymore, without choice or autonomy. She chooses to be who she is - _all_ of who she is - and that makes all the difference in the world.

It’s been years and she still catches herself sometimes, hesitant to reach out to Anna. It happens in quiet moments, when things slip into how they were - crossing the corridors after dark and walking past the door to Anna’s room, where her sister sits curled up with Kristoff and a book by the fire in one of her rare quiet moments. That filter is still there, and for the tiniest second Elsa’s breath hitches and her heart clenches. But as the moment stretches, it relaxes and deflates, and Elsa can smile once more. She’ll never stop knocking because she never has to wonder if Anna will answer.

She has a brother now, and Elsa weighs the broken fiction that Hans left behind against the rooted integrity in Kristoff. It was Hans who looked more like their father, but it’s Kristoff who acts like him, with quiet loyalty and loving smiles. Lies are figments but truth is grounded and a life can only grow from things of substance.

Elsa’s never had the chance to live a normal life and though Anna scrunches her nose at state affairs, Elsa relishes the chance to do what she was born to do, was trained to do, and loves to do, without fear or favor.

Her work grounds her; familiar, but altogether new. The treaties and council meetings are the same, but now she is a true ruler, part of her people as much as they are a part of her.

Every summer there is ice skating in the courtyard, one of Anna’s new traditions that Elsa loves. It’s the perfect celebration of her presence among her people, and there is no more distance. No more hiding.

She knows who she is now, that she is Elsa, and just like a snowflake, reflects the entire spectrum of light: of life and love, of the world around her and the people within it. She has been shaped by cold and brutal circumstance and atmosphere, but crystallized into beauty, made sharper and stronger than before.

There is beauty in snowflakes, now, and Elsa no longer fears the wind. She trusts it to take her exactly where she was meant to be.

And it has.

Elsa is on firm ground, and she is solid.

  
  
  
**The End.**   
  
  
  
  



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